Harper had to be honest with himself. He

Harper had to be honest with himself. He was in love with a werewolf. He didn't mind the drooling and snarling - that wasn't much different than his ex when she forgot to take her

bipolar medications. No, the mood swings weren't the problem. The real issue was Harper's irrational fear of fleas infesting his

armpits. He was terrified he'd never be able to hail a cab ever again, raise his hand at meetings, or stretch out in lanquid bliss at the beach. Why, if fleas imbedded his armpits,

where the hell did the cockroaches embed themselves? The thought was horrifying, paralyzed him right there in the elevator. He couldn't get out. All day he just stood in the corner

He stood there, thinking of what to do next. Thinking of what he'd eat for dinner. Thinking of when the girl from last night would call back. But mostly, thinking about those

shoes! He had to have those shoes. Normally this would be the last thing on his mind, but that sale price was enough to make him forget about everything else. Could he get there in

time to try them on? He wanted to feel the soles under his feet and smell that new shoe smell. He knew having those shoes at that riduculous sale price would make him the most

sought after man in all of Kentucky. Still stationed at the window of the shoe store, he realized that it was time. Those golden loafers with the reversible tassels would be his.

"Fine sir!" He charmed the shopkeeper with a crocodile smile. "Those golden loafers are calling my name." The mustachioed clerk blanched. "But those ain't for human feet. They's